Fulcrum
by Renee2939
Summary: For love, they will move the world.
1. Chapter 1

**Story Notes:** Starts at the end of Normal Again- some dialogue from the episode is used- and quickly goes off into my own little AR.

**A/N:** I expect to get a bit of flack for some of what I will do herein. I can only say there was no other way to do what I wanted without doing exactly what I did. This is my big, ole WIP, my baby. It is, as always, completely unbeta-ed. That's where you guys come in. Let me know if something doesn't work or someone is too OOC and, more importantly, why. I've rarely written Giles or Anya and have never written some of the other characters I will end up pulling in. I may not take all your suggestions but I will always give them serious thought. Consequently, there may be tweaking of chapters. You have been duly warned. Apologies to all for any grammatical errors or just plain wrongness. Feedback is always appreciated. (See above request for it.)

**A/N #2:** Edited 9/25/06 for errors after feedback from a reviewer. See, I do read 'em and take 'em seriously. ;)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never gonna be mine. Not making a profit here either.

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This was harder than she'd thought. It was only natural, she supposed. She'd been with these people, these figments of her imagination, for years now. They were her family- _used to be _her family. Now it was time to leave childish things like imaginary friends behind so she could go home to be with her _real _family. She just didn't expect it to be this hard; to watch them struggle and want nothing more than to go to them, to help them. It's what she did. She helps people, she's the Slayer.

No. No, she's not. That's just a fantasy. It's something her mind made up to help her cope. But none of that was real and the sooner this was over, the sooner she could get well and go home. If only it didn't hurt so much. If only it wasn't so _hard_. She banged her head on the wall over and over again, trying to make the pain only physical, trying to make everything clear. If she just wouldn't think about it so much…

"You've got…a world of strength in your heart," her mom said softly, crouched down next to her. "I know you do, you just have to find it again. Believe in yourself."

Her mother's hand felt so good in her hair; smoothing it back just like when she was a little girl and would come into her parent's room after a nightmare. Buffy leaned into the touch, savoring it, before turning to look deep into her mother's eyes.

"You're right," she said, smiling sadly. "Thank you."

Oh God, she didn't know what she'd been thinking. She'd offered her friends up to a demon like a-a _sacrifice_. She had to go back and make it right. If she could.

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Spike stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. He'd stayed away for two days. He thought she'd be back before now. What she needed only he could give her and if she was too bloody pig-headed to go to him, he'd just come back to her. If only his feet would get the message and let him walk to the door instead of refusing to move.

Spike had dread curling around in his stomach and couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as if they hadn't fought before, usually right before a good shagging. And after one. And sometimes during. They fought pretty much all the time, truth to tell. Nothing different about this at all.

He finally convinced his feet to start moving by throwing the rest of himself forward and counting on various parts of his body to not want to make a hard impact with the ground. It seemed to be a good strategy because, instead of pitching forward on his face, he was suddenly walking up the steps to the door.

Spike knocked several times with no result. She could be on patrol but Dawn or Red should be home at least. He finally lost patience and hammered on the door, nonplused when it suddenly swung open under his fist.

"Hello?" He called from the doorway. "Demon here, able to just walk right in the bloody Slayer's house because someone forgot how to properly close and lock the door!"

He stalked into the house and slammed the door closed, locking it firmly. He stood in the entryway and shivers suddenly raced up and down his spine. Dead silence.

Spike wandered into the kitchen. It looked like Red hadn't bothered to clean any of her magic implements from the counter again. The whole kitchen smelled like vinegar and cabbage. What the hell had she been making? He stretched out a finger and poked at one of the bundles of herbs, jumping back into a fighting stance when the refrigerator suddenly kicked on.

He straightened back up, shook his head and laughed at himself under his breath. Jumping at shadows, some Big Bad. Good thing no one was home to see that.

Spike walked into the living room and slowly made a sweep of the room, looking to see what had been moved since he'd stayed here with Bit. It wasn't often now that he got to be here by himself, not without a bloody good reason. Rummaging through the girls' things quickly lost its novelty though, so he turned and headed for the stairs. No telling when any of them would come home. He could always say he was just looking for Buffy if anyone caught him. Wanted to know if the Slayer wanted to go out on patrol. Yeah.

Every room upstairs was empty and somehow unlived in. The air was still and that feeling of dread had returned ten-fold. It was a bit like walking around in a tomb, except he had no problem with things like that. He lived in a sodding crypt with the dearly departed still in residence; tombs didn't bother him.

This, though, this was something else. This was his girls' house; his vibrant, messy, loud girls. There was something not right about how still and silent the house was and, after he'd checked all the rooms, he quickly moved back downstairs. Not that he was spooked mind. It was just, he didn't want to get caught up there all by his lonesome and have another row with the Slayer. This was about making up, not starting another fight.

He was heading through the kitchen towards the back door when he caught the scent. Spike didn't know how he could have missed it before; the stench of death was all but clogging his nostrils now. He tracked it to the slightly open door that led down to the basement.

Spike nudged the door fully open with his foot and peered down into the room. It didn't look like there was anyone down there but if he concentrated, blocking the ticking of the clock and the quiet hum of the refrigerator, he could hear a heart beating slowly and steadily somewhere in the dim room. And the smell of vinegar only got stronger.

The stairs creaked softly as he walked down them. He was expecting any moment for the washer or dryer to come on and Dawn to shriek the house down that he'd scared the pants off her creeping up like that. But all he heard in the silence was that single beating heart. If someone was down here, they weren't moving.

The first thing Spike saw was the dead demon on the floor by the washing machine. It had to be a day old at the least. The body smelled strongly of vinegar and decomposing cabbages and explained the smell permeating the kitchen. He pinched his sensitive nostrils together in disgust before turning away to scan the rest of the room.

The second thing he saw caused his blood to freeze and his head to swim. For a few surreal seconds Spike thought he was actually going to pass out. He had to take several deep, unnecessary breaths before the spots stopped dancing in front of his eyes.

"Oh, flaming hells," he whispered, horrified.

Spike slunk forward slowly, still scanning the basement. He let the bones in his face shift as his senses flared outward. The sound of breathing was suddenly harsh in his ears and the single living pulse was booming. There was someone down here and he had to find them, find her. It had to be her.

It _had_ to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I can only (hah!) give this an M rating, but it's so hard to know where M goes sailing off into MA. I definitely don't want to get smacked down by the shiny black boots of authority so, for Bob's sake (and mine), let me know if this strays into dangerous territory- I'm not trying to write porn here- and I'll rework it.

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Spike found Buffy, curled up into a ball and lying on her side, behind some boxes in the farthest corner underneath the stairs. She'd obviously been back there for a good bit. Spike could smell the ammonia tang of urine and unmistakable stink of feces underneath the overpowering stench of decomposition. He crouched down next to her and gently pushed lank hair back from her face.

Her beautiful green eyes were wide and unfocused. Gone away again, just like she'd done when Dawn had been taken by that evil bint Glory. Well, that would just make his job that much easier then.

Spike carried Buffy out of the basement and up the stairs to the bathroom. He sat her down by the tub and turned the hot water all the way open. After he checked to make sure there were wash cloths and soap, he took three towels and laid them on the counter. Buffy still hadn't moved on her own or made a single sound.

"Alright, love," he said, voice echoing strangely off the bathroom walls, "we've got to get you cleaned up a bit. Don't know if you can hear me or not, pet, but…" He trailed off, unnerved. He'd already seen every inch of her but this just felt wrong somehow. She should be staking him with a look or rolling her eyes at him or-or _something_. She shouldn't be just sitting there where he'd put her, placid as sheep. "Right then, let's get this over with."

Spike adjusted the temperature of the water as the room filled up with steam. He turned the shower on and pulled the curtain halfway closed before turning back to Buffy. Her clothes would have to come off, and probably be burned, and there was only him left to do it; no matter how wrong it felt.

Once he'd removed both their clothes, he picked her up again and stepped under the spray of water, closing the curtain behind him. Spike lowered them both down until he was sitting with Buffy turned sideways in his lap. He tried to be as impersonal as he could but…it was still Buffy he had naked and wet in his arms, in his lap, and she effected him just as she always had. The brisk scrubbing slowly changed to comforting, soapy caresses.

He squirted shampoo into his hands and rubbed them together before threading his fingers through her wet hair. He'd always loved her hair. Spike knew it wasn't her natural color (that was more than a bit obvious just now) but he still loved the way her hair always shone, like she had trapped a bit of the forbidden sun.

"My little Goldilocks," he whispered to her damp temple.

When she was as clean as he could get her, and her skin was flushed pink from the hot water, he levered both of them up and out. He grabbed the towels as he passed by them and took her into her bedroom, laying her down crossways on the bed, legs dangling over the side.

He wrapped one of the towels around his waist and knelt at her feet with another one. Spike slid the towel up and down both her legs and in between her toes, wiping every drop of water off her skin. It wasn't until he sat beside her on the bed that he realized he was in more trouble than he'd thought.

The cool air had made Buffy's skin tighten and goosebump. It had also caused her small pink nipples to runch up into hard little nubs. Tiny droplets of water were clinging to her curling pubic hair and damned if he could dry her off _there_ without his stomach turning sickly. Wasn't right to touch her when she couldn't either punch him in the nose for it or jump squirming into his lap for more.

With slightly shaking hands, he dried her arms and her stomach. He kept his eyes firmly on her face, looking for any reaction from her. Hell, he'd be happy if she suddenly sat up and reached for a stake.

Spike breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally done and could wrap the last towel around her wet hair.

"Now," he said, prattling like a complete twit as he got up and started to search through her dresser, "we just have to get you into something comfortable."

Spike found some sweat pants and a cotton top and spent a frustrating fifteen minutes maneuvering Buffy into them. When he'd finally gotten her clothed, he arranged her on the bed and pulled the covers up under her chin. She'd be fine like that until he'd done what he needed to.

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Giles paid the driver and watched the cab drive off. He hefted his suitcase and squared his shoulders before turning to survey the house in front of him. It looked just as it always had, from the outside at least. The grass was perhaps a little longer and there was an air of disuse about the place that couldn't be put solely to lack of yard maintenance.

Anya was sitting on the steps waiting for him. "I don't know why you wouldn't let me transport you. It's a much faster and more efficient way of traveling," she said when he stopped beside her.

"I'm sure it is. I've also heard that hang-gliding is quite invigorating, but I don't plan on doing that any time in the near future either." He nodded to the front door. "Have you gone in yet," he asked, his voice grave and weary.

Anya stood and led the way to the front door. "I haven't been in since the day you called me." She looked at him for the first time since the cab had let him off in front of the house. In that moment, face shaded from the sun by the porch, he looked every one of his years. "I don't know what happened Giles, but it was bad. Whatever it was, it was bad."

"And you haven't heard from anyone? No one's called you?" After a bit of frantic patting, Giles took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door.

"No, no one." Anya wrapped her arms around her waist and looked back towards the street. "I haven't been able to find any of them," she whispered. "The demon community has figured it out, too. The streets aren't safe after dark. The Hellmouth is unguarded again."

They both stood, unmoving and with nothing else to say to each other, in front of the unlocked and still closed door.

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Fred suddenly awakened with a start. Gunn was standing beside her in the hotel lobby looking at Angel. "The Destroyer," she said as everyone turned to look at her. "I remember…the Destroyer's coming."

Standing on the other side of Fred beside Groo, a slightly disheveled Cordelia said, "Right. We got that. Any idea when?"

Fred had just opened her mouth to reply when the lobby doors crashed open and a smoking form leapt inside. The blanket covering it slipped off to reveal a man with platinum blonde hair dressed completely in black and carrying a woman in his arms. The woman's hair was across her face and one arm dangled limply.

"What the… _Spike_!" Angel clenched his jaw and took a menacing step in the other vampire's direction but was interrupted by a large display of electricity and a boom of thunder in the middle of the lobby.

"Now," said Fred apprehensively as everyone turned to look at this new development.

A large two-horned monster suddenly dropped out of the rippling orange air. Groo pushed Cordy back and raised his axe, ready to protect his princess with his life, as Lorne and Gunn took an instinctive step backward. The monster let out an enraged roar just as something else hurtled out of the dimensional tear in a blur of limbs.

"Oh, balls." Spike sighed and shook his head, looking down at the woman in his arms. Should've known.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I am going to assume, because I really don't want to spend a lot of time on exposition, that everyone knows what is going on with both shows right about now. If not, there are quite a few summary and transcription sites out there you can go to and read the episodes. We'll be switching back and forth between both shows, so it helps to have some idea of where they are both at but it is not really integral to my plot.

**A/N #2:** Sorry for the delay in updating. RL has not been kind here lately and I've not been online or working on my writing as much. Also, I have 2 weeks to come up with something coherent for my _Project Paranormal_ entry and I only have about 600 words of the required 5,000 actually written. :( I should get back to updating regularly in July. Thank you everyone who has reviewed so far, it warms the cockles of my fragile little ego. ;)

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The latest newcomer to the Hyperion seemed to be a teenage boy dressed in leather-like skins adorned with bones and teeth. He stood in the lobby with the decapitated beast at his feet. The huge, curved blade strapped to his forearm gleamed where it wasn't covered by gore from the dead monster and his other hand held some kind of projectile weapon bristling with sharpened stakes.

The boy pointed his weapon at Angel before giving him a grim smile. "Hi, Dad," he said sarcastically.

As soon as the boy raised his weapon, Gunn started running for the weapons cabinet and Groo moved around to get a clear path to the teenage Connor. Fred stayed kneeling on the orange couch, Lorne and Cordy standing and staring in shock beside her.

Angel turned and held his hand out to his team. "Wait," he shouted. He turned back just in time to dodge two stake hurled through the air at him. "No!"

Groo let his axe fly as Connor launched several more stakes at his father but Connor turned with it and smacked the axe away from him. Connor and Angel both stood looking at each other; Connor with the weapon pointed at Angel again and Angel looking at Connor in disbelief.

They both turned slightly at a shouted "hey, no," as the woman Spike was holding suddenly rolled out of his arms and stood slightly crouched, feet spread, hands clawed, looking at them both through a curtain of tangled blonde hair.

"Vampires," she growled and raced towards Connor in a blur.

Connor let three more stakes fly, this time in her direction. She dodged them easily and leapt at him, twisting in the air like a cat when he brought the blade on his forearm up. She landed on her hands and knees on the floor and swept her leg out in the air, catching Connor in the back of his knees.

He tucked his head down and threw himself forward. The woman grabbed a handful of skins as he attempted to roll past her and slammed him down onto the floor. She swung a leg over him, straddling his waist.

Connor moved to cut her with the blade and she grabbed his arm and tore the weapon off of it, sending it spinning across the lobby floor. She was growling softly as her hands forced Connor's chin up, trying to snap his neck, when Angel tackled her from the side and rolled her off his son.

Connor jumped up and ran towards the front door of the hotel, deftly evading Spike's half-hearted attempts at capture. Spike jumped back as the door swung wide and the boy disappeared into the sunlight. Groo and Gunn ran past him and stood on the sidewalk watching as Connor scrambled up the back of a passing bus and onto its roof.

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Anya finished ringing up a sale, smiling brightly at the shear volume of protection charms she had just sold and telling her customer to come back soon and please spend more money. She quickly sobered as the woman left and moved to join Giles at the table.

He was looking in consternation at the map spread out before him. "They have to be shielded or cloaked somehow."

"You haven't had any luck at all," Anya questioned.

Giles sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "See for yourself." He gestured to the road map as if wanting to push it away from himself or deny its contents. "I was able to locate a flicker here and here four hours ago, neither of which makes any sense, and nothing since then."

Anya moved up beside him and peered over his shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"It means, I still have no bloody idea where they are," Giles announced sharply.

Anya leaned over farther, pushing into Giles' shoulder. "What are these?" She picked up several envelopes off the pile beside the map and quickly flicked through them. "Bills?"

"Yes, well, I do imagine Buffy will want a home to come back to." Giles looked slightly uncomfortable under Anya's sympathetic gaze. "Besides, I would be paying these wherever I stayed."

Anya looked hesitantly at him. "I could…if you wanted to check on these, I could transport us there. After I close the shop, of course."

"Of course," he said wryly. "Anya, this is the second time you've offered to transport me. I thought D'Hoffryn generally frowned on Vengeance Demons using their powers for anything not involved with their, ah, work."

"But this is involved with my work." Anya slumped down into the chair next to Giles. "This is my main base of operations and it's starting to be overrun with demons. The humans are pulling together, looking out for each other, being all loving and concerned." The last was said with considerable disgust. "Hardly anyone here has called on me lately and my quota is way down."

"Yes, well, I'm not sure what any of that has to do with finding Buffy and the others."

"Between the Mayor scaring off anything too nasty- before he died- and then Buffy continuing to keep the demons in check afterwards, people felt safe." Anya looked at Giles excitedly. "If we get Buffy back, the demons either leave town, stop being so obvious or Buffy kills them; the people start to feel safer and they go back to acting like normal humans."

"Petty, foolish and vindictive."

"And wanting vengeance." Anya smile prettily. "Exactly."

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"…and so then we came here," Spike finished. He stood in Angel's office, leaning against door and flicking the top of his lighter open and closed. He didn't like this one bit but he didn't know who else to turn to. Spike had exhausted all his other contacts and resources and they needed help.

Angel rubbed a hand over his face, wincing when his fingers passed over the still oozing claw marks and the bullet holes in his back stretched and started bleeding again. "She only does that when she senses vampires?"

"Or demons," Spike sighed, "and then only about half the time. One minute she's," Spike waved a hand towards the window, "a lifeless shadow, the next she's Jackie Chan. Never know when it's comin' on or how long it's gonna last." And every damned time he hoped it was the time she'd come back to him for good.

Angel watched through the window as Cordy, Lorne, Groo, and Gunn stood by the couch next to a once again docile Buffy. Buffy's face was expressionless and her eyes stared off into nothing while Fred sat next to her and chattered away.

Angel was reminded of how Buffy had looked just after she'd come back. She'd sat across from him in the truck stop full of a quiet despair that he didn't know what to do with or how to talk her out of. Neither of them had gone back home reassured.

"You haven't talked to Giles?"

"Can't get hold of him. I've left message after message at his flat." Spike started to pace in agitation. "Told him she needed him; told him I didn't know what to do. Why do you think I've been chasing around after every whisper of a cure? Why do you think I'm here?"

Spike threw himself down in one of the chairs in front of the desk and stared at Angel somberly. "You know I wouldn't come to you for help if it wasn't for her." Spike paused until Angel nodded that he understood. "You owe me--"

"What? _I_ owe _you_? Just who's tried to kill who in this room?" Angel glared across his desk at the younger vampire. "Who had who tortured?"

"Oh, I really don't think you want to get into the subject of torture and killing, do you _Angelus_?" Spike glared right back at him. "And who left who to take care of two women by himself, mate? Who got a soul, skipped out without a word and switched sides?"

"Spike, aren't we on the _same_ side now? You know, after _you _switched sides- quite a few times I might add. And who came back here to help you instead of staying with his son?"

Spike tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Thought you were moaning on before about the boy not wanting anything to do with you." Self-righteous git always could twist everything around to suit himself. "Seems you didn't have a choice on that one, Peaches. You owe me, both of us know it, both of us know why, and now 'm collecting."

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"So…this is the famous Vampire Slayer." Lorne took a sip of something light blue and smelling vaguely like fruit. "I always thought she'd be…" He languidly waved his glass towards Buffy.

"Yes, it does seem she--" Groo started, only to be cut off by Cordelia.

"I'd watch how I finished that sentence if I were you," she said. "Fellow person of the demon hunting persuasion here, and also, female." She was watching Buffy's slack face closely, looking for any signs of life in those vacant, staring eyes. It was strange, Buffy had always seemed almost larger than life, certainly larger than her actual 5'4", and now she looked so small and fragile.

"I just thought, as a renowned warrior feared by evil, she'd be…larger and more muscular," Groo explained.

"Yeah." Gunn nodded. "And less with the Fay Wray entrance. Doesn't inspire a lot of confidence. Well, except for that whole almost-took-the-freaky-teenager's-head-off thing. That was pretty damn cool. And almost clawing Angel's face off, twice. That was also pretty damn cool."

"Charles," Fred scolded. "She's obviously not well. And it wasn't that long ago that I was writing on walls and talking to myself." She looked off in thought. "Well, I still talk to myself sometimes." Fred looked around quickly. "Not crazy-woman talk," she assured everyone. "Just normal, everyday 'where'd I put that double-bladed axe or differential calculus book' talk."

"Of course, my little poppy seed. Crazy is as crazy does, I always say." Lorne looked thoughtfully at Buffy. "I just hope Angel-cakes knows what he's getting himself into with _this_ big, heaping bowl full of fruit loops."

"Angel-cakes? Why, Peaches, you sly devil you." Spike threw a smirk over his shoulder at Angel as they both came out of the office before turning to look at Lorne. "I'm not calling you Gran'mum, though."

"Perish the thought. I'm much too young and well-toned to be a grandmother."

"Peaches?" Gunn eyed Angel speculatively. "I'm guessing there's a story behind that that no one here wants to know about."

"Speak for yourself." Cordelia kept her eyes on Spike. She didn't trust him farther than she could throw him, which, considering he could probably kill her before she could lay a hand on him, wouldn't be very far at all. "So, not here to kill us all I'm assuming."

"I already did the karaoke bit for ol' red eyes there. You know why I'm here. Besides, had more than enough chances sitting here with you lot waiting for the big git to get back."

"Spike, stop it. He can't. He's been neutered and can't hurt humans anymore." Angel ignored Spike's indignant posturing and moved slowly towards Buffy. She'd reacted violently to his presence when he'd returned to the hotel after tracking down Connor and he didn't want to startle her again. "Buffy needs our help and, unfortunately, that seems to mean putting up with Spike."

"She's had a long day. Didn't sleep much on the drive over here. Just show us to a room and we'll let you lot get on with finding her a cure." Spike reached out to pick Buffy up and was halted by Angel's fingers grinding into his wrist.

"I'll take her up to _her_ room. You can pick out whichever one you want." Angel forgot his previous hesitation and scooped Buffy off the couch, cradling her tenderly in his arms. "Except mine."

"Oh, no you don't, you bloody prat," Spike spit at him. "Give her here. _I've_ been taking care of her, _I've_ been the one by her side day and night, and _I'll _carry her up to _our_ room."

"No, you won't. She's not sharing a room with you, Spike." Angel turned and started towards the stairs. "This is my hotel and you came to me for help. She's got me to look after her now."

"Oh, yes, because you've done such a bang-up job looking after her these last few years." Spike stalked after Angel and grabbed his arm, swinging him around and poking a finger in his face. "Where were you when her mum was sick? Where were you when Dawn got taken by that bint Glory? Where were you when soldier boy left her? Where were you when she _died_?" Spike voice had steadily risen until he was shouting. "I was there, Angel, and I'm not leavin' her on her own now. She can't stay in a room by herself; she's bloody catatonic, you stupid git!"

"Uh…hey. I, ah, thought I'd come by like you said." Everyone turned to look at Connor standing uneasily on the lobby steps. "Is this a bad time? I-I could come back later."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in updating. Health concerns and a death in the family threw everything out of wack. RL bites, I like this world better. Also, FFN got a glitch and decided it didn't like me. It wouldn't let me upload anything. All fixed now though. (Obvious much?) Never again will I speculate on when I may be posting.

**A/N #2:** I apologize in advance for where I've put the chapter break in. It just seemed appropriate. Some things aren't exactly what they seem though. Thank you everyone who has reviewed so far, it warms the cockles of my fragile little ego. ;)

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Angel surveyed the room silently. This one might do- far enough away that it wouldn't make Connor uncomfortable, but close enough to let Angel breathe (metaphorically speaking) a little easier. "What do you think, Cordy?"

"I think you might need to slow down a little." Cordelia stepped out of the doorway and sat on the foot of the single bed. "I know you're excited but-"

Angel looked at her strangely. "You don't think I should be happy? Cordy, I just received something I never thought I would be able to have- a second chance."

"Angel," Cordelia snagged his hand and tugged until he was sitting beside her. "Of course I think you should be happy, but I think you should slow down a little, too. Co-Stephen has grown up in a place I can't even imagine and with a guy that doesn't exactly have a reason to be singing your praises. I just think you shouldn't push him."

Angel's eyes softened. "I won't push him. I won't push either of them."

"Either of them?" Cordelia experienced a sinking feeling when a goofy smile broke across Angel's face.

"Connor and Buffy."

"Angel-"

"I know, I know. But Connor is here and he wants to know me. Not pushing, but I get a second chance. And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure Buffy comes back to us. When she does, I'll be there for her. You and Groo proved there are options out there. I can be with her, like I was meant to be, and not have to worry about losing my soul. I know it won't be easy, but this is my second chance and I'm not about to blow it."

Angel practically bounced off the bed and went to the open doorway. He turned to Cordy with a smile that she knew wasn't meant for her. "I'm going to get Connor. See what he thinks about this room." He left her sitting on the bed, staring at the door, wondering why, when Angel was so obviously happy, she felt like her heart was breaking.

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Spike slipped stealthily down the shadowed hallway, nostrils flaring wide to take in the curious mix of scents in the hotel. If they were going to be throwing their lot in with Angel and company, even temporarily, then Spike was going to make sure there were no nasty surprises lurking in the building and he damn well wanted to make sure he had a couple of escape routes and easily defensible positions, if it ever came down to it.

He'd caught a nasty piece of business in one of the rooms- woman, crushing guilt, numbing fear and grief, something demonic hanging over the room like a hungry, suffocating blanket, death and Angel scent- but it wasn't anything recent and seemed to be slowly fading away. He'd keep Buffy away from that room, just in case, but it wasn't something he was going to worry about. He had quite enough to worry about as it was.

Spike had barely turned the corner at the end of the hall when he saw Cordelia coming out of one of the myriad non-descript rooms. He froze, catching a small glimpse of her face before she turned to walk away from him. She didn't seem to have seen him, or maybe just didn't want to, so he simply filed the almost-encounter in the back of his mind, something to take out and examine later, and slowly backed back around the corner.

He'd taken two steps backward when he suddenly twisted and dropped to the floor, lashing back with a booted foot as he went. A hand grabbed at his ankle and lower leg and drew him up off the floor and slammed him hard into the wall.

Spike slammed his other foot into a knee and was rewarded with a grunt of pain before he was lifted again and thrown into the corner of the hallway, his back twisting painfully around the ninety degree turn. He let himself crumple to the floor before leveraging himself against the hold on his leg and jackknifing straight back to plant an elbow into an exposed throat.

Spike was immediately free, falling onto his hands and knees before whirling around and up into a defensive crouch.

A ham-sized fist plowed into Spike's nose and he stumbled back a few steps, one hand reflexively coming up to protectively cup the battered appendage. "Bloody fucking hell! Why is it always the damned nose?"

"It makes a satisfying crunch, would be my guess." Angel ghosted out of the shadows, smirking. The mocking smile slowly died and Angel's expression turned hard. "Why were you lurking around Connor's room?"

"Don't be daft." Spike wiped a trickle of blood from his right nostril and absently brought it up to his mouth to lick it clean. "Didn't know it was going to be Junior's room, did I? Saw your bird coming out all upset and didn't want to deal with another woman emotionally screwed up by you."

"My b- you mean Cordy." Angel looked down the hall, took one step, then two before stopping uncertainly and looking back at Spike. "She was upset?"

"Oh don't even try to give me that shit, mate. There is no way you can tell me you can't smell it all over her every time she comes near you. What I want to know is what are you going to do about it?"

"Spike, you're making even less sense than usual."

Spike jabbed a finger in the direction Cordelia had gone. "That woman wants you so bad she's choking on it and you know it. I know you know it. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Spike, you don't know me at all."

"And that's still twice as well as your little playmates do. I know where you live. I know what they can't even begin to understand. Play clueless for the masses if you want, but that 'oblivious me' shit won't work on this member of the peanut gallery."

"This is not a discussion I'm having with you."

"When it concerns Buffy's safety, you damn well will. I have no problem putting a nice sharp piece of wood straight through your shriveled little heart, mate, I'd just like a little warning first. You plan on getting groiny, I'd like a heads up."

Angel blinked and raised his eyebrows. "Groiny?"

"Sodding Scoobies," Spike grumbled.

Angel and Spike smiled at each other, a genuine smile of companionship that died a quick death when they realized what they were doing. The entire hotel seemed to hold its breath as the two continued to stare at each other.

"You don't have anything to worry about." Angel stared into Spike's eyes, trying to impress upon the younger vampire the sincerity of his words. "Cordy has Groo. He's… he worships her. She's better off with him. I don't… He would kill himself before hurting her or allowing anything else to hurt her."

Angel shuffled his feet and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck but kept his eyes locked with Spike's.

Spike snorted. "Cheap knock-off, mate. Cheap knock-off."

Angel was the first to blink and look away. And the hotel could finally release its held breath, along with the strange, electric tension of the two vampires.

-------------------------

Stephen sat on the bed and looked around the room he'd been taken to. It was nicer than the hotel his father was in, even if it did smell funny. He hoped he wouldn't have to keep up this charade much longer. The vampire wasn't his father, would never, could never, be his father. His father was in a cheap hotel across town. The sooner Dad realized that, the sooner Stephen would get to go home and be with his _real_ father.

Angelus wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. He was just as devious as his father had said he'd be but…Stephen had been braced for a smooth-talking vampire who could wrap anyone around his finger. He'd thought the humans his father had told him stayed with Angelus were under some sort of thrall, or possibly evil. It wasn't like that as far as he could see. The vampire was awkward and didn't seem to know how to talk to him at all. Of course, that could be exactly what he wanted people to think, what he wanted Stephen to think. He'd have to be very careful and keep his guard up at all times.

"What are you doing here?" Stephen asked without turning.

"Thought you wanted to talk," Spike said from the doorway. He leaned against the door jam and studied the young man he'd been told was Angel and Darla's son. Kid definitely had his father's brooding down pat, even if he did look more like Darla than Angel. Spike would bet the mind behind those blue eyes was pure Angelus though.

"Why would you think that?" Stephen turned until his back was against the headboard and stretched his legs out on the bed.

"Didn't go with Pops to kill the club full of vampires and save the helpless bird, did you?" Spike looked once around the room before walking confidently to the bed and shifting the boy's feet to the side so he could sit down. "Now, if I had just come back from a hell dimension and told my dad I wanted to spend time with him, I would've gone with him when he offered a spot of father-son bonding violence." Spike looked Stephen in the eyes. "Unless I wanted to have a little personal chat with the only person in the room who didn't seem to be on the Angel bandwagon."

Stephen shrugged. This one was smarter than he'd thought. And apparently the invitation-only clause hadn't kicked in yet. "I just wanted to know things, things he probably wouldn't want to tell me." _And things you probably would._

"What do you want to know? Dirty little secrets? He's got a million of 'em. Mistakes? Got a million and one of those. Ways to break him? Very few, junior." Spike waited for what he knew to be coming. The others might not see it, and even if Angel did he wouldn't want to admit it, but Spike knew there was something off about this whole thing.

"Tell me about the girl. The one he was holding." Stephen had surprised the demon, he could see it. "Is she a vampire, too? She moved like one…before."

"Ah." Spike took out his lighter and started flicking it open and closed, open and closed. "Now there's a tale for the campfire."

-------------------------

Rupert Giles sighed and slipped his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose. Damned useless gits every single one of them, himself included. No one knew anything. The Council had no answers and neither did the coven. Giles had spent every moment since he'd returned to Sunnydale looking for any trace of the children. That's what they were, all of them, his children. The ones he'd never have because of his calling.

Even Spike had mysteriously disappeared. Of course, he should in no way be relieved that, wherever they all were, Spike was most probably with them. But Giles _was_ relieved. Spike was a strong ally, though unpredictable, and he had a feeling that Anya was correct; whatever had happened, it was bad.

The phone messages he'd received before contacting Anya had been from Spike. Not Buffy. Spike. And they had chilled Giles to the bone.

He'd just come back from a particularly interesting seminar on talismans of the 15th century and noticed the message light blinking rapidly on his machine. The first three were hang-ups. The fourth through ninth were from Spike and he'd become increasingly terse with each message. Giles had a feeling the tenth through fifteenth were also from Spike, though no further messages had been left.

The only clues Giles had were that Buffy was in some sort of trouble and needed a cure for something.

When he finally found them, Giles was going to wring the vampire's neck for not giving him any more information. How the devil was he supposed to help when he didn't know what had happened or where they'd gone?

It may have been silly and quite melodramatic, but Giles was certain that this was somehow all his fault. He should never have left. He hadn't known any other way to get through to her, though.

Giles knew she was a strong and capable young woman, even if she hadn't seen it herself, and the only way to show her had been to take himself out of the picture. If he hadn't gone back to England, he would've been too tempted to act the father and make everything right. She never would've stopped relying on him and started relying on herself again.

And now, because of his short-sighted, though well-meaning, decision, she was out there somewhere in who knew what sort of trouble. It also disturbed Giles to no end that neither Willow nor Tara had been to any of their classes and were, in fact, listed as missing persons.

He was startled when the quiet of the house was shattered by the ringing of the phone. Giles had been staying at the house in anticipation of Buffy and Dawn's return, though with every day that passed he was losing hope that they'd ever be heard from again. And that little voice in the back of his head that wouldn't let him sleep at night kept repeating that it would be all his fault.

"Summers' residence," he said into the phone, trying to keep hope out of his voice.

There was a slight hesitation and then, "Giles? It's Angel."

Giles' fingers clenched white around the receiver. "If you're looking for Buffy, I-I'm afraid she's not here at the moment. I'm expecting a very important phone call so if you don't mind…" Giles trailed off hoping the vampire would get the hint.

"I know Buffy's not there. She's here in L.A. With me." Giles heard a faint noise on the other end of the line, as if a hand had been held over the receiver, and then Angel came back on. "She's here with me and Spike."

Giles felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him and was surprised to feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes. "Oh, thank God." He had to clear his throat before continuing. "Is ev-everyone alright? Do you know what's happened?"

Giles heard the sounds of a brief scuffle and then Spike's voice came booming over the line. "What the bloody hell! I've been trying to reach you for two months and you're at the sodding house?"

"Yes, well, I got your messages and came back straight away to find everyone had disappeared. I might ask you what the bloody hell you're all doing in L.A."

"Giles." This time Spike's voice was hesitant and filled with sadness. "There's-- oh, hell, Buffy needs help. She's…and then the rest of them…**_balls_**! The others are dead, except maybe Harris-- don't know where he went after the wedding that wasn't-- Buffy's lost in her head somewhere, and I don't know what to do."

At that moment, Giles felt himself being torn into three separate and distinct people.

The Watcher was calm and collected. There was no time for horror or hysterics. If he wanted his Slayer back, everything Spike could tell him was vital. He listened closely to everything the vampire told him, questioned Spike until the situation was firmly solid in his mind and made all the appropriate assurances.

Ripper was enraged. His people- hurt, dead. He didn't give a damn about the circumstances. Right then he wanted nothing more than to get roaring drunk and kill something. Several somethings.

The father in him struggled not to give over to grief, nearly choking himself trying not to scream out his rage and sorrow. All of them gone away. And it was all his fault.

_Never should've left them. _

Soft, sweet, helpful little Tara with her shy smiles and her nervous stutter.

_All his fault. _

Intelligent, babbling Willow with her flaming hair and ridiculous shapeless clothing who used to look at him with hero worship and not a little bit of speculation.

_Left them vulnerable. _

Dawn beaming at him after even the smallest bit of praise and trying so hard to be the normal young girl she actually wasn't.

_All his fault._

Buffy, his darling Buffy, who he'd once lost and had returned to him. And then he'd just thrown her away.

_All. _

_His. _

_Fault._

The father heard Spike's voice droning on from the phone and then he heard his own voice answer, though he couldn't say just what was said. It all seemed very far away from where he was. In a minute, he'd pull himself together with his other two selves and do whatever needed to be done. In a minute.

Right then, he was a father who, in one cruel blow, had just lost his children.


End file.
